Corey McFadden (19 page)

Elspeth put her ear against the door and could hear no giggling voices. Hoping that the ladies were well on their way ahead of her, she crept out and down the stairs.

There was something of a commotion at the front door. Raised voices could be heard over the strains of music that floated from the ballroom. Some gatecrasher, thought Elspeth as she hurried down, glad of the diversion. She hoped to slip into the ballroom and find her aunt before anyone spotted her. Her face must still be scarlet with shame. At least no one would think her pale now.

“Elspeth!” Julian’s voice rang out in the hallway, loud and uncontrolled.

Elspeth froze near the foot of the stairs. This was not how she’d planned it. Their meeting must be cool and proper, not wild and ranting, all the more so after her unfortunate eavesdropping upstairs.

“Elspeth, for God’s sake you must let me speak with you!” Julian cried. He lurched forward, breaking the grip of an outraged footman and two horrified gentlemen. Elspeth could not move, watching him come toward her. His appearance was astonishing. He was disheveled, a mess really, wearing day clothes he might have been riding in. His neckcloth was askew, nearly untied, and his waistcoat was unbuttoned. No wonder the footman had not wished to admit him. What in the name of heaven was he up to? The Viscountess Alderson would be outraged.

Julian came to a stop in front of her. Elspeth was shocked at how he looked. As if he had not slept in days. As if he had been to hell and back. As had she.

“I’m begging you, Elspeth. Please let me talk to you,” he said, quieter now, just for her ears. He reached out, but she stepped back. He did not withdraw his hand.

Even at the distance of a few feet, she could smell the brandy. He had been drinking, and by the looks of him, quite a lot. Over the top of his head, she glanced at the two gentlemen who stood in the hallway, nearly open-mouthed, but soaking it all in. She could not bear to be the subject of any more tittering malice.

“Go away!” she hissed. “We can’t talk now. Things are bad enough.”

At that moment the door across the hallway opened. Lenore Watkins and several young ladies wandered out. Their eyes widened at the sight of the tableau.

“Why...Mr. Thorpe, how lovely to see you,” Elspeth said, a little too loudly, smiling broadly despite gritted teeth. “Caroline is in the ballroom, and we’ve been planning a wonderful wedding!” She stepped down and took his arm, and firmly turned him away from the gaping ladies. “I’m going to be an attendant. Won’t that be fun? We’ll have such a time picking out our gowns.” She simpered up at him. Julian stared at her stupidly, as if he were trying to piece together her words. Small wonder he couldn’t make sense of what she said. The brandy smell nearly knocked her over. She was surprised he could put one foot in front of the other. He leaned heavily on her arm, and she was aware that if she withdrew her support, he’d fall right over. She smiled at the thought. But, no, it wouldn’t do in front of all these wagging tongues.

Steering him firmly into the ballroom, Elspeth braced herself for the shocked murmurs that would greet their entrance. She was not disappointed. Every head turned as they passed. Every single one, lips parted and eyes bright with anticipated entertainment. Elspeth murmured inanities at an increasingly befuddled Julian, while she concentrated on smiling benignly, nodding at those who stared most bluntly, and, above all, keeping Julian from falling over in a sodden heap. The excited murmurs flowed throughout the room like waves on the shore. It was Elspeth’s bad luck that the musicians happened to be in between dances at this moment. She headed for the long French doors at the far end of the room that led onto the balustraded terrace. It seemed an awfully long way at this moment. Just then, the orchestra struck up the lilting strains of a waltz, and Elspeth felt encouraged. The waltz, having been banned as scandalous for so long, had become so popular that most would now flock to the business of dancing, perhaps leaving her to escort this rogue outside, possibly to boot him over the balcony.

“Will you give me the pleasure of this dance?” Julian murmured in her ear.

“Are you mad?” she hissed back, smiling for the benefit of all who still gawked. “Not only would it be most improper, but you’d fall over if you tried.”

“We’ll see about that,” he growled, and with surprising strength, swept her up into an embrace, flowing smoothly into the dance steps. It was all Elspeth could do not to stumble over her own feet to catch up with him.

“Stop this instant, sir!” she hissed, her expression more grimace than smile. “I’ve no wish to dance with you. Your engagement to my cousin is to be announced shortly. You’ve made a big enough fool of me as it is.”

“The engagement is a farce, Elspeth. You must believe me. I’ve never cared for your cousin.” He was surprisingly coherent. And steady on his feet. Of course, he might fall over at any moment.

“My eyes have told me otherwise, sir. Did you plan on trying my virtue as well or were you content to have my fool’s declaration of love?”

“I love you,” he said simply.

“You will not say that to me again. I will not listen to your lies. If I was a fool, then you were a villain, sir, but while I am no longer a fool, you are still a villain.” It was hard to say these things through smiling lips, but Elspeth was aware that interested gazes still followed them across the floor. Added to that, she wanted very badly to cry. His arms were strong and hard around her. And beneath the brandy, she could smell the clean cotton of his neckcloth, and the light scent of his soap.

“What is the meaning of this, Mr. Thorpe?” rang out the hushed, shocked tones of Aunt Bettina. Elspeth did trip over her feet as she came face to face with her aunt, who looked angry enough to spit out nails. “Your engagement is to be announced shortly, and here you are, looking like a bumpkin, and not only have you not said hello to your affianced, you are dancing the waltz with another woman!”

“Take yourself off, madam,” Julian growled, “or so help me God, I will denounce your scheming daughter to the assembled multitude right here and now.”

Aunt Bettina’s eyes fairly goggled. She swayed, mesmerized for a moment, then she lifted her fan and began using it in earnest. She turned, still swaying, and tottered off, still fanning herself. Elspeth was quite sure it was the first time she had seen a fan used merely as a fan since she’d arrived in Bath.

“She is right, you know, sir,” Elspeth said. “Your behavior is abominable. I will return to the country soon enough, and I care not what anyone here thinks of me, but my cousin must make her way in this society. It does you no credit to demean her like this.”

“Demean Caroline?” he asked, incredulity dripping from his voice. He seemed to be sobering up more and more each minute, although for the life of her, Elspeth couldn’t see how whirling about on a dance floor could be doing his head any good. “Is it possible to demean a woman who has already lowered herself to this degree?”

“If you mean to cast aspersion on my cousin for falling for your wiles in the labyrinth, Mr. Thorpe, allow me to assure you that I hold you responsible for corrupting an innocent woman.”

“Innocent?” he asked, staring down at her. “Do you really believe I would stoop so low as to ask you to marry me, then ravish your cousin the first chance I got?”

“I know what I saw, sir,” Elspeth answered, voice small. She did not wish to discuss this at all, ever.

“You know what you think you saw, Elspeth.”

They danced now in silence, Elspeth could think of nothing to say that would not bring on her tears. She did not know what Julian thought, but whenever she glanced at his face, he looked grim and gray. At last the music came to a halt. Of necessity their feet stopped moving. Elspeth made to pull away, but he held her fast.

“Unhand me this instant, sir!” she hissed. “Everyone will be staring.”

“Let them stare,” he muttered.

“Julian, if you do not wish to be hauled before the magistrate and charged with my attempted rape, I suggest you let go of my desperate little cousin this minute,” Caroline’s voice hissed like a snake, low and deadly over Elspeth’s shoulder.

Julian smiled a slow, vicious smile. “I would welcome such an opportunity to set the record straight, Caroline. Go ahead, I dare you.” His grip lightened on Elspeth’s hand and around her waist, and she took that opportunity to step away from him.

“On second thought, I do not care to sully my own name,” Caroline said. “However, I do think the
ton
would be more than willing to believe that my cousin is so lost to all propriety that she throws herself at you even now, when you are affianced. Have you heard the
on dit
about you this evening, Elspeth?”

Elspeth could feel the hot flush creeping up her throat. Indeed, she had heard. Every nasty word.

“I can see that you have. If you know what is good for you, you will smile your insipid little smile and remove yourself from our presence immediately. My fiancé and I have nuptial matters to discuss.”

“You are a vicious woman, Caroline. I despise you,” Julian said. Elspeth heard Caroline’s shocked intake of breath. She was aware that Julian had not taken his eyes off of her. Confused and angry, she dared not raise her gaze to the rest of the room, but from the corner of her eyes she sensed couples edging closer, obviously hoping to hear the contretemps.

“Ah, Miss Elspeth Quinn, you are looking divine as always, this evening. Might you honor me with the next dance?” Before she had time to place the voice, Elspeth found herself seized from behind and swept away on the arm of Edgar Randall, who was moving just as fast as propriety would allow.

“I must warn you, I’m a dreadful dancer. Worse than most, really. Actually, I cannot abide dancing. Perhaps you’d care to sit this one out with me? It’s terribly stuffy in here, don’t you think?” Mr. Randall nattered on and on, not pausing for breath, moving inexorably toward the terrace. “Do smile at me please, Miss Quinn. It does not do for you to look as if I’d taken a poleax to you. Now, perhaps we can relax away from the prying of the gentry.” He finished with a flourish, depositing her on a bench on the terrace, far enough from the French doors to be out of earshot, but not so far that anyone could think mischief was afoot.

“There,” he said, seating himself next to her. “I suppose you do not wish to talk about it. Quite so. We can discuss the weather, or the viscountess’s increasingly appalling guest list, Fanny Leicester’s shocking gown—you choose the topic. You’ll find me conversant on the subject of most inanities.”

“I...” Elspeth ventured, then trailed off, nonplussed.

“Exactly!” Edgar said. “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”

Despite herself, Elspeth laughed. From the long French doors came the lilting strains of a quadrille. She wondered if Julian and Caroline now traced the intricate steps. Perhaps he would fall over with no one to hold him up. It would serve him right. With dismay, she noticed two gentlemen hurrying toward them. With the light from the doors behind them, she could not make out their features, but as they drew closer, their glorious raiment gave them away. Thomas and Robert. Or was it Robert and Thomas?

“Edgar, you must come!” sang out one of the peacocks. “Julian is causing the most dreadful scene! He’s refusing to leave, although Viscountess Alderson is bearing down on him even as we speak.”

“Oh, dear me, this won’t do at all,” Edgar muttered next to her. “You must excuse me, Miss Quinn. No, on second thought,” he said, rising and holding out his hand, “you must come inside with me. I cannot very well leave you here alone in the dark.”

Elspeth took his hand and stood, not that she cared a fig whether or not she sat alone. She did, however, wish to see what was happening in the ballroom. She had a morbid curiosity, much the way one paused at the scene of a carriage accident. They hastened into the ballroom, Elspeth scanning the room. Her blurred vision spotted a tight group of people near the center of the room. Edgar made for the spot, with Elspeth, possibly forgotten, on his arm.

“Lady Alderson, you must excuse dear Mr. Thorpe.”

Elspeth heard her Aunt Bettina’s pleading tones before the figures resolved themselves into individual identities. “I’m sure there is some explanation.”

“There is, madam,” said Julian. “I am exceedingly drunk,” he went on, making an exaggerated, unbalanced bow. Elspeth was quite sure the excessive slurring was put on for effect. He had spoken much more clearly a few moments ago.

“Well!” replied the viscountess in frosty tones. “I daresay your poor mother would be mortified at your performance this evening, Julian. As it is, you will kindly remove yourself from the premises at once. I will expect a fulsome and abject apology from you when you are capable of it, tomorrow at the very latest. I’m sorry, Bettina,” she said, turning to Mrs. Quinn, “but under the circumstances, I think the announcement had best be put off until a more auspicious occasion. I’ll not have my ball turned into any more of a carnival than it is already. If you gentlemen will assist Mr. Thorpe…” she said, turning to Thomas and Robert, who had insinuated themselves into the group.

“Thank you, Lady Alderson, but I require no assistance,” said Julian. This time he made a formal, and perfectly executed bow. He rose, and with a slow and deliberate smile, turned and made a surprisingly dignified exit. All heads turned to watch his progression and a buzz of whispering swelled throughout the room. At a haughty signal from the hostess, the orchestra struck up a lively tune.

“We shall be taking our leave as well, Lady Alderson,” said Aunt Bettina, her eyes darting about, trying to assess the damage.

“Oh, I hardly think that wise, Bettina,” the lady said coolly. “Thomas? Or are you Robert? I can never tell you apart. One of you will dance with Miss Caroline Quinn. And you there”—she gestured imperiously at Edgar, who had maintained his grip on Elspeth’s arm— “Dance with the other gel—the cousin.” Thomas—or was it Robert?—simpered and bent over Caroline’s hand, murmuring nonsense. Caroline looked ready to commit murder. “Smile, gel,” ordered the viscountess. Caroline managed a rictus as she was whisked away.